


hey stranger (or may i call you my own)

by reglna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-07-20 20:31:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16144949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reglna/pseuds/reglna
Summary: “Believe me, if you still have doubts tomorrow I’m not gonna be the one dragging you to the altar. But the rehearsal is not the wedding, and maybe seeing all this and, you know, rehearsing, is what you need to get rid of them. And besides, it’s the family you’ve always wanted, right?”That’s when Regina’s eyes meet hers for the first time since she’s entered the room and Emma’s breath hitches a little in her throat but the moment is gone as soon as it came; they slide down Emma’s face back to the brunette’s own lap, now with only her two hands intertwined together.“Right.”or, Regina is getting married to the wrong person, and the right person is her maid of honor.





	1. a-c

**Author's Note:**

> mostly acknowledges canon until the end of the third season and then some with a few easy-to-spot changes.

 

* * *

adapt **_verb_** \ə-ˈdapt\

_to change your behavior so that it is easier to live in a particular place or situation_

* * *

She doesn’t even give her eyes a chance to open fully before she forces them closed again, pushing her face into a pillow with a low grunt as her fingers find her phone and turn off the annoyingly loud alarm sound with one precise tap.

It’s not like she’s been sleeping anyway.

Sure enough, there’s a knock on the door not more than ten seconds later that makes her feel like a teen who refuses to get up and get ready for school until their parents practically drag them out of bed. And, to be quite honest, even though she’s exhausted and sad and frustrated and scared shitless and a million other things she doesn’t even want to begin to name, the feeling is not half bad. Some more or less fifteen years too late, but right now kinda exactly what she needs.

“Emma?” she knows Mary Margaret’s voice is quiet but to her hungover ears it sounds like a hundred glass bottles are shattering against a concrete wall less than two inches away from her. “I know you’d rather sleep but the rehearsal ceremony is in two hours.”

Sleep? Hell yeah she’d rather sleep. She’d also rather dance barefoot on hot bricks, let an inexperienced archer shoot an apple off the top of her head, swim in a tank full of blood craving sharks and about literally any other activity one can think of. But she made a decision and she made a promise sixty days ago and even though there hasn’t been a day (or an hour. or a minute for that matter) during which she wouldn’t be cursing herself for it, she sits up slowly, pushing the covers off of herself as she clenches her teeth and tries to ignore the nausea rising in her throat. Perhaps she shouldn’t have drunk so much last night. Perhaps she shouldn’t have drunk last night at all, considering what will be expected of her during the next 48 hours.

***

Coffee might not be what her upset stomach needs but it’s her best (and only) shot at making herself more or less conscious so she accepts the cup her mother hands her gratefully as she eyes a plate full of chocolate chip pancakes David places on the counter in front of her.

“Your favourite,” he states the obvious and she does her best to smile because really, he’s trying so hard to make her feel better it almost glues the shattered pieces of her heart together a little. Almost.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, taking a forkful of the dish and swallowing it before her swollen throat can protest. She manages to scarf down another few bites using this tactic but soon enough she’s forced to look at her father apologetically and shake her head, covering her mouth with her hand. He just nods with understanding and takes the plate away before leading Mary Margaret – who’s clearly about to say something – out of the kitchen, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts and really, she couldn’t be more thankful.

* * *

affinity **_noun_** \ə-ˈfi-nə-tē\

_a feeling of closeness and understanding that someone has for another person because of their similar qualities, ideas, or interests_

_a liking for or an attraction to something_

_a quality that makes people or things suited to each other_

* * *

“You’re _late_!” She hears a hiss the second she answers her phone and she can’t help but smirk a little to herself. Honestly, it’s kind of adorable that someone so composed can turn into such a hot mess in a matter of seconds.

“Relax, I’m on my way,” she replies calmly, not showing how amused she is – that would probably score her a painful shove here or there. And besides, she doesn’t want the woman to think she’s making fun of her, not on a day like this anyway.

“Mmph,” she chuckles at the incoherent sound followed by a short beep indicating the call ended and throws the phone on the passenger seat, her eyes landing on the dress that’s packed in a transparent bag and thrown carelessly over the back and her fingers grip on the steering wheel tightly as she averts her gaze. This should be interesting. If interesting meant terrible and gut-wrenching, that is.

***

“She’s freaking out,” Ruby warns her quietly when she crosses the threshold and Emma just raises a bottle of jack she’s holding in her hand as if that was an answer enough. “You’re going to get her drunk for her rehearsal ceremony?” the brunette asks sceptically, without doubt remembering what happened the last time a bottle of jack and the two women were involved, and Emma rolls her eyes forcing the mental images she doesn’t need right now (or ever) out of her head.

“I’m not going to get her _drunk_ , I’m going to help her relax,” she shrugs and looks up at the sound of heels clicking frantically on the hardwood floor somewhere above their heads.

“Yeah, it’s been like that since I came here. She needs you right now, no one can get her to calm down.”

The blonde nods, kicking off her boots and is about to come in when the woman grabs her wrist and pushes a pack of gum in her hand. “You smell like a brewery,” she whispers and Emma puffs out a slightly annoyed breath but pops two minty pieces in her mouth anyway.

“Yeah well, excuse me for not being able to stand it sober,” she snaps a little bit more harshly than intended and sighs, wanting to apologise but the waitress doesn’t let her.

“Sorry, Em,” she mumbles and Emma somehow manages to smile, even if a bit bitterly.

“Whatever. Gotta go, seems like the bride really needs a Savior,” she mutters when the sound of shattering glass makes the walls around them shake and Ruby all but drags her inside.

***

“Hey there,” Emma opens the bedroom door without knocking and instantly spots the brunette sitting on the bed with her face in her hands.

“You were supposed to be here half an hour ago,” comes a muffled complaint and Emma smiles, sitting next to the woman and bumping their shoulders together.

“Sorry, I overslept,” she says and the snort she hears in response is devoid of malice.

“Are you _ever_ on time?”

“Not really,” Emma grins, taking the woman’s hands in hers and pulling them away from her face. “Ready to get your hair and makeup done?”

Regina doesn’t reply, staring at their intertwined hands as her shoulders sag slightly. “I don’t know if I can do this,” and it still takes Emma a couple of seconds to put out the fire the words cause to start in her heart, even if it seems that she should’ve mastered the art by now, considering the fact that’s all she’s been doing lately.

“Remember what you told me a week ago?” she finally manages, letting go of Regina’s hands.

“That I’m probably going to need you to stop me from freaking out?”

“Precisely. And believe me, if you still have doubts tomorrow I’m not gonna be the one dragging you to the altar. But the rehearsal is _not_ the wedding, and maybe seeing all this and, you know, rehearsing, is what you need to get rid of them. And besides, it’s the family you’ve always wanted, right?”

That’s when Regina’s eyes meet hers for the first time since she’s entered the room and Emma’s breath hitches a little in her throat but the moment is gone as soon as it came; they slide down Emma’s face back to the brunette’s own lap, now with only her two hands intertwined together.

“Right.”  

* * *

alexithymia **_noun_** \ə-ˌleks-i-ˈthī-mē-ə\

_inability to cognitively identify one’s feelings_

_inability to describe emotions in a verbal manner_  

* * *

Three shots of jack later Regina visibly relaxes and Emma finally manages to convince her to follow her downstairs where Ruby and Storybrooke’s best hairdresser, Rapunzel (Emma can’t help but roll her eyes a little when she hears the name), are waiting to help the woman get ready.

“Alright Regina, I’m leaving you in good hands. I’m gonna drive by the church and the cabin to make sure everything’s prepared and I’ll be back in time to get changed for the ceremony,” Emma says with one final glance at the brunette and the other woman nods with a smile and an only a little bit tense “thank you”.

“Don’t let her drink anymore,” Emma whispers to Ruby who walks her to the car. “We wouldn’t want her to trip over the red carpet,” the blonde grins as the waitress glances back at the door warily.

“I know it’s a big day and all but… doesn’t she seem a tad _too_ nervous to you?”

Emma shrugs, pushing her hands into her pockets and fishing out the keys to her bug. “Cut her some slack, we’re talking about the _queen_ here, she’s probably just freaking out she had to give so much control over the wedding to other people,” she lies smoothly (or maybe she just wishes it were a lie?). “Good luck with that,” she adds with a smirk, getting in the car while Ruby winces at the scream coming from the mansion.

“I told you I don’t want them to be curly, you twisted little—”

***

“How’s everything?” Emma asks, her phone trapped between her shoulder and her cheek as she keeps running around the church, making sure everything is up to Regina’s impossible standards.

“Robin, Henry and Roland are ready and Mary Margaret is fighting with Granny over the table setting so nothing new,” David replies and Emma once again takes a mental note to thank Robin for choosing such a calm and organized person as his best man. “How’s everything there?”

“I’m at the church right now, Regina is finishing getting ready I think. I was gonna drive by the cabin but Kathryn needed more help than I expected here so I don’t have time,” Emma sighs.

“No worries, Emma, we took care of everything. And besides, I’m sure Regina would rather have you with her right now.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you?” the question takes the blonde off guard a little and she has to rest her back against the wall as her fingers wrap around the phone. It’s been so long since anyone who knows the situation asked her that question that she doesn’t really know how to reply.

“I’m—Well, you know, happy for them.”

“Emma.”

“Heartbroken. Is that what you wanted to hear?” she finally drawls and it’s maybe 1% of the whole plethora of emotions she’s going through. “I can’t talk right now,” she adds and pushes the phone into her pocket, busying herself with fixing the flower arrangements around the altar before she can start feeling guilty about shutting him off like that.

* * *

apodyopsis **_noun_**

_an act of mentally undressing someone_

* * *

“Wow,” the word comes out before Emma’s brain (that’s currently short-circuiting) can catch up with her mouth and maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to take those few gulps of jack before she left the car. Three pairs of eyes snap up to look at her but she’s only focused on one of them. Regina’s pupils widen a little when they spot her in the doorway but the woman doesn’t look away for what seems like a really long time. Full crimson lips part slightly, long fingers run through shiny hair and there it is; a light blush, barely visible against Regina’s olive skin, covers the entirety of her cleavage and cheeks and Emma bites her lip. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to get over how truly beautiful the woman looks in those short and rare moments of complete vulnerability.

“We did a good job, right?” she hears an amused voice but it’s still not enough to make her remember that they are not alone.

“Huh?”

Ruby snaps her fingers in front of her face and that’s what finally gets her to tear her gaze away from the other brunette. She thinks she can hear a chuckle somewhere in the room but she focuses on the waitress, folding her arms on her chest and schooling her features as best as she can.

“I said, we did a good job, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, a great job. You—you look amazing, Regina,” Emma says, meeting the sorcerer’s eyes once again, this time her own feelings hidden securely behind thick walls of trained indifference.

“Thank you,” the blush is long gone and the smile that graces the brunette’s lips can only be described as _friendly_ and it kinda really breaks Emma’s heart. “Is everything ready?”

“The church took more time than I thought it would so I didn’t have time to check the cabin myself but I got David to send me pictures and everything looks really great. He said the boys and Robin are ready and they’ll all be there on time.”

Regina nods before pointing at the garment bag that’s thrown over the blonde’s shoulder. “Well, we don’t want to be late either so…”

“I’m on it,” Ruby is the one to answer her as she grabs Emma’s wrist and yanks her in the direction of the bathroom.

* * *

ardent **_adjective_ ** \ˈär-dənt\

 _having or showing very strong feelings_  

* * *

“What are you doing?” Ruby hisses the second the door shuts behind them.

“Ow!” Emma exclaims, pulling her wrist away from the brunette’s tight grip. “What do you mean?” she asks innocently, massaging her tortured hand. “Y’know, if it leaves bruises—“

“Oh, stop whining,” the waitress cuts her off unceremoniously, pulling on the blonde’s jacket until it slides off her arms and falls on the floor. “And I mean, “wow”? It’s not a cheesy rom-com and you’re not some boy picking up your date on prom night, not in this scenario. I love you, Emma, you know I wish it wasn’t like that, but it would be better for everyone involved, _especially_ _you_ , if you just cut it.”

“Do you seriously think it was my intention?” Emma mutters, kicking off her jeans and wincing as she takes the dress out of the garment bag. The only good thing about it all is that Regina let them wear their own clothes for the rehearsal so she won’t feel _too_ out of place in her short red one. Still, not really her thing, at least not anymore.

Ruby sighs, rubbing her temples as she sits on the edge of the bathtub. “Sorry,” she mumbles and then wrinkles her nose a little, her eyes full of accusation as they land on Emma. “Have you been drinking again?”

“Someone I love is getting married to someone who’s not me in 24 hours, Ruby. Give me a break, okay?”

* * *

bereft **_adjective_ ** \bi-ˈreft\

_deprived or robbed of the possession of something_

_lacking something needed, wanted, or expected_

* * *

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress,” Regina says, her eyes traveling down Emma’s body slowly and Emma’s heart starts pounding somewhere in the area of her throat and maybe she should start wearing dresses more often. And when the woman’s eyes meet hers, hungry and possessive and loving and tender and everything Emma wants them to be at the same time, for a second she kinda thinks hey, maybe it’s not all bad. Sure, Regina is getting married tomorrow but on the other hand, they will always have _this_ , right? Stolen glances and memories and flirting that goes _far_ beyond what’s healthy for _friends_ (but of course neither of them will ever comment on that). It might not be what she really wants or needs, but right in this moment it seems like maybe it’s enough.

Because let’s face it, they would make a terrible couple. Okay, they’re doing sorta fine as friends but that’s only because they don’t live together and the only problems they’ve ever had to face are choosing between ordering pizza or Chinese or fighting over what movie to watch (that Regina always wins and it’s only because Emma genuinely thinks her choices are better, not because she makes such completely irresistible puppy eyes it should be illegal, _duh_ ). And fine, maybe creating an eclipse and defeating quite literally every villain they’ve ever met and opening a portal to another realm and destroying something that was thought to be indestructible together should be on this list as well but it really doesn’t mean that they would be ready to face _real_ problems like the fact that Emma always puts off washing the dishes until she has to eat off of a Frisbee or that she “forgets” to vacuum for three months or that her idea of doing laundry is throwing every dirty item of clothing in the back of the closet and praying it disappears.

So yeah, it’s definitely better this way.

Except that half an hour later, she’s watching Regina walk down the aisle and no, it’s _not_.

* * *

cataclysmic **_adjective_** \ˈka-tə-ˌkliz-mik\

 _severely destructive_  

* * *

Ruby doesn’t snatch the bottle from before her eyes until she downs her fifth shot and she’s really grateful for that.

“That bad, huh?” the brunette slides down on a chair next to her and Emma shrugs, her eyes simultaneously trying to avoid Regina all smiles and rainbows in her “rehearsal dress” and seemingly being completely drawn to her.

“She was so nervous the whole time, I kinda thought she was gonna—“ the blonde sighs, looking down at the empty glass. “I know it’s stupid.”

“Emma… She loves him. They’ve been together for what, two years now? It’s not exactly a rushed decision…”

“I know but—Those two years, they weren’t only theirs, you know?

“Well, were they yours?”

Emma puffs out an annoyed breath. “More times than you know, really.” 

* * *

clandestine **adjective** \klan-ˈdes-tən\

_done in a private place or way_

_done secretly_  

* * *

It’s all-consuming, the way Regina’s eyes light up for the briefest of moments whenever she notices Emma glancing at her. It’s also really really unfair because how is Emma supposed to be the bigger woman when the brunette is acting like that?

From showing Roland how to hand the rings, to practicing her speech at dinner, to grinning during Regina and Robin’s first dance, everything she does during the ceremony is completely automatic.

“It was perfect,” she says simply when Regina’s questioning eyes find her once everyone’s relaxed and talking to each other and it’s terrible because god, she’s not even lying. The rehearsal proves that this is exactly the kind of wedding Regina’s been probably dreaming of since she was a little girl, to a man who’s lovely, bright, handsome, and who’s so completely in love with her probably the only person who could beat him is Emma. If it were a contest, that is. Which it’s not. And if it were it’s not Emma who would’ve gotten the prize anyway.

The brunette nods, not meeting Emma’s eyes, and her smile is just a tiny bit too bright to be genuine. “What’s wrong?” Emma frowns, taking Regina’s hand into hers loosely.

“Nothing. Nothing, you’re right, it was perfect.”

Then there’s this smile again, a quick “I have to go” and Emma is left alone by the almost empty table, thanking all the gods in the world for the fact that the bottle of jack she used to get Regina to come to the rehearsal is still in her car.

***

The half-full bottle in hand and a heavy feeling in her chest that’s probably never going to go away, she leaves the cabin and wanders down a narrow path towards the unguarded beach she knows far too well. Hidden behind a fallen tree and surrounded by piles of sand, there’s _their_ spot. A small round patch, as if designed specially to fit a blanket.

Emma sighs and throws her jacket on the ground before sitting on it. She rests her back against the tree, closes her eyes, takes a few gulps of jack and tries to focus on the gentle murmur of the waves but nothing can drown out the heavy breaths and loud moans and empty promises whispered into the salty wind.

She doesn’t notice the tears in her eyes until they’re falling down freely and really, what’s the point in trying to stop them? 24 hours. 24 hours and the love of her life will be married to the most perfect guy on earth and not even Emma is selfish enough to try and stop it. Not now, anyway. It’s not like she hasn’t tried. God, she’s tried. Two years of drunken calls and angry texts. Two years of stolen kisses and secret hook-ups. Two years of blaming herself for being the reason Regina wasn’t completely happy with Robin. Two years of doing exactly nothing to change that because she’s just so terribly, completely, heartbrokenly in love with her any thought of being away from her or ending this toxic thing between them seemed crazy.

Two years of being convinced she just really didn’t deserve better than that.

God, she’d hate her if she could. 

* * *

crestfallen **adjective** \ˈkrest-ˌfȯ-lən\

_dejected; dispirited; discouraged_

* * *

“Thought I’d find you here,” the voice is gentle and quiet but it still makes Emma startle and her eyes bolt open as she hugs the bottle.

18 years in the foster system will do that to you.

“Regina,” she sighs, watching as Regina’s face falls when she notices her reaction. She’s still wearing her rehearsal dress but she’s changed from the blazer into a huge fluffy sweater Emma gave her for Christmas last year and a dull pain settles deep inside the blonde’s stomach right next to the heaviness in her chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Regina’s eyes are sympathetic and Emma winces, suddenly wishing the former queen hadn’t witnessed all these late-night nightmares in the past couple of years. But then again, her arms around her were probably the only reason she could even fall asleep again. _Were_ being the key word.

“It’s fine, I just dozed off listening to the ocean,” she shrugs nonchalantly, shifting a little so that Regina can sit next to her on the jacket. The woman eyes the thing suspiciously for a couple of seconds (because some things never change) but eventually sits down, snatching the bottle from Emma without hesitation and taking a few deep gulps. “Everyone will be wondering where the bride’s gone.”

“I told Robin I had to look for my bridesmaid,” Regina replies when she’s done drinking and hands the bottle back to the blonde.

“Sorry, I just figured the rehearsal was over.”

“It was,” the brunette wraps her arms around her bent legs and turns her head slightly to the left so that she can watch the ocean from behind the branches. “You just never said goodbye.”

Well you never said goodbye either, have you, Emma wants to say but the thing is, Regina is getting married tomorrow and she’s decided a long time ago to be better than this so she just focuses her attention on the now almost empty bottle, hoping Regina will take the hint and let it go (like she’s let everything else go).

But it’s Regina and Regina knows her and it sucks and hurts and now she’s turning her head back to look at Emma and—

“It seems like it’s been ages since we last shared a bottle of jack,” the brunette mutters, her bare toes digging into the cold sand, heels long forgotten on one of the rocks.

But it’s the one weekend they both remember far too well and Emma winces because it’s such an insensitive subject for Regina to bring up right now and she wishes she had enough self-restraint to stop herself from glancing at her but she doesn’t and she’s never had and maybe it’s her destiny to be the broken one. Maybe it’s her destiny to give everyone their happy endings but never be able to find one for herself.

The kiss, when it comes, is not surprising at all. Regina lunges forward as if her life depended on it and Emma’s never been the one to turn away from these lips so she doesn’t this time either. But the problem is, it’s everything like all the other kisses they’ve shared since Robin came into the picture – desperate and consuming and all you’re-not-my-happy-ending-but-god-I-want-you-so-bad and none you-could-be-my-happy-ending-if-we-both-tried-hard-enough and for the first time in her life, Emma decides that maybe, just maybe, she does deserve better than that.

“I’m sorry.”


	2. d-h

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this took longer than anticipated, sorry y'all... huge thanks to Libby who brainstormed ideas for this chapter with me many moons ago.

* * *

defile _**verb**_ \di-ˈfī(-ə)l\

_to make unclean or impure_

* * *

  _2 weeks earlier_

“Vegas babyyyyyyyyyy!” Ruby yells raising the half-empty bottle of champagne and then immediately hiccups, making Emma take the bottle from her hand.

“At least leave something for the bride, will ya,” she laughs, passing the bottle to Regina who’s never seemed more sober in her life even though she had six appletinis during the flight from Portland. Emma blames the airline. Scammers.

The limo they rented for the ride from the airport is huge and, quite frankly, nothing like Regina. Pink and white leather, tiny penis garlands hanging from the roof (ugh), tons of tacky masks, sunglasses and hats scattered around, posters of naked firemen, a scent of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke… At least the champagne is decent, or so it seems from the way Regina smiles with content when she takes the first sip from the glass (because obviously drinking straight from the bottle isn’t _refined_ enough).

To be fair, Regina wasn’t the biggest fan of the idea when Emma first suggested Vegas for the brunette’s bachelorette party. Meaning she made a half an hour long speech about how they’re not “some idiot horny teenagers” and how they have a son and have to “set the right example” (“I know it’s too much to expect from you, _Miss Swan_. DO NOT ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME!”). The blonde doesn’t and probably will never know what made the former queen change her mind (probably _not_ her pathetic whines of “but I’m your maid of honooor” and “I regret asking you for an opinion”) but the fact remains that when she checked her phone before going to bed that night she found an email from rmills@storybrooke.gov containing four round-way plane tickets and an elaborate reservation for a weekend in a two bedroom suite at MGM Grand. The message said:

_I will not let you empty your bank account for this._

_R._

_PS. Thank you._

And that’s the story of how a for once victorious Emma ended up in Las Vegas accompanied by a reluctantly excited Regina, drunk into oblivion Ruby and completely sober Kathryn in what Regina calls her tourist-mode, snapping pictures of everything. _Everything_. Which, as Emma decides, albeit terribly annoying, might admittedly come in handy at one point or another if the plot of _What happens in Vegas_ is anything to go by here. Which she hopes it isn’t. _Obviously_.

***

It’s barely 3pm when they get to the hotel but woke up at an ungodly hour, they’ve been drinking since the moment they all got into David’s car to get to Portland, sat through an annoying layover in _Newark_ of all places and besides it’s 6pm in Storybrooke and it’s definitely _time for food_.

“You’re a child,” Regina laughs and rolls her eyes as Emma calls the room service the second they walk into the suite to order dinner.

“I’m human, thank you very much. One can only survive so long on an airplane lunch and salty limo treats,” the blonde shrugs as she orders what’s likely half of the hotel’s menu for herself before looking to Kathryn and Ruby for their orders.

“What about me?” Regina protests and Emma grins at her smugly.

“You’re not a child, are you?” she chuckles but before the brunette has time to turn her furious glare into words she just rolls her eyes and recites an elaborate list of Regina’s favorite food for whenever she’s slightly tipsy from memory.

“How did you—”

“ _Please_ , what do you take me for? Some kind of a rookie?”

“Show-off.”

“You love it.”

***

They all agree a short nap before they go out in the evening is necessary and indeed, by the time they’re done eating Emma’s eyelids get impossibly heavy but at least she’s not as ungraceful as Ruby who emptied her plate in record time and immediately stumbled into one of the bedrooms where she’s now sprawled on the king-sized bed snoring loudly.

“Well, there’s no way in hell I’m sleeping with that human lawnmower,” Kathryn mutters, closing the door to the room and wincing when the sounds get only slightly muffled. “I’m taking the couch,” she shrugs and throws herself on a huge leather sofa in the middle of the living area.

“In that case…” Emma kicks off her shorts and walks into the other bedroom, thanking all the gods in the world for AC because she’s pretty sure that without it she’d have turned into a quickly evaporating puddle on the floor, what with the 105 degrees outside and all. She lies down on the bed and doesn’t even have to open her eyes to know Regina’s standing in the doorway, paralyzed.

“It’s a king-sized bed, Regina. I promise I can control myself,” she snorts but it wouldn’t take a genius to know she’s completely unamused.

“Right…” Regina stammers and follows Emma into the room, taking off her jeans and folding them neatly on one of the armchairs in the corner before laying down with her back turned to Emma, taking up barely 15 inches of the bed.

“Whatever,” Emma sighs, too tired – today and in general – to try to convince Regina it’s okay. Especially if she’s not even so sure herself it is.

It’s not. It’s not when she’s on the verge of falling asleep and feels Regina scooting closer and it’s definitely not when she wakes up an hour later because she feels too hot and as it turns out the reason is not the thin blanket – which now resides on the floor anyway – but the head resting peacefully on her left breast, the possessive arm thrown across her bare stomach (her top so far up now it barely even covers her bra) and long tanned legs tangled with her own.

God, why.

She’s fully alert within seconds, her heart beating somewhere in the area of her now tight throat and she hasn’t felt so broken and sick in months. She can take meaningless sex (even if it’s not really meaningless on her side) – welcomes it even because she’d rather feel used than feel useless. She’s done it before, Regina sneaking out of her apartment before she wakes up stopped hurting a long time ago. But this? This familiarity, this sense of belonging, this waking up in a bed that smells like Regina’s shampoo and warmth and _home_ even though it’s on the other side of the country and not one that smells like sex and sweat and regret? This is too much.

She doesn’t even bother trying to be gentle as she sits up and gets out of the bed, away from the smell, away from the memories and away from what she can never, ever have (which is now represented by Regina’s firm embrace). The brunette mumbles something incoherently, grabbing Emma’s pillow and burying her face in it for a second before she also sits up, clearly sleepy and confused but conscious enough to realise the loss.

Their eyes meet and Emma starts fixing her hair to hide the fact that her hands are trembling and wow, she needs a drink. Or five.

“Yeah, I- um- I’m taking the bathroom first,” she mutters and storms out of the room.

***

“Emma.”

She’s been sitting at their table at the hotel bar for almost two hours now. At first it got a little worse, especially because she was forced to listen to Regina talking to Robin on the phone earlier – the _I love you too_ at the end almost made her lock herself up in the bathroom, but since then it’s been getting admittedly better and now, on her fifth shot of tequila, she’s at least in no state of mind to overthink everything.

Her eyes turn towards the sound and slide lazily down Regina’s body. Because honestly, how could they not? The brunette has taken her sweet time getting ready – so much that Ruby and Kathryn decided to just fuck it and go on their “nearby casino spree” on their own – but boy was it worth it. Regina’s dark hair is straightened, the ends brushing her shoulders gently; her lips painted a dark, deep red, now forming something between a smile and a smirk, as if she wasn’t sure which one is appropriate. She’s wearing a short black dress, showcasing her full cleavage and long legs. And her heels… Well, you know how in movies when the couple ends up in the bedroom and the guy says “Leave the heels on”? Those are the heels.

“What’s up?” Emma gives the brunette what she hopes is a friendly smile and is quite proud of herself for not slurring her words (yet?).

She watches as Regina sits at the bar, gets the bartender’s attention – which is obviously not a difficult task at all what with looking the way she does – and points for four more shots.

“Where’s the rest of the party?” the brunette asks after downing the first glass and grabbing the second one straight away.

“I’m afraid it’s just us,” Emma’s feeling too self-conscious to look at the other woman even in her rather drunk state, doesn’t want to see her face fall when she realizes her bridesmaids went to party without her.

She’s rather flabbergasted when she hears Regina chuckle.

“I’m not surprised. The camera must have been burning a hole in Kathryn’s pocket,” she says light-heartedly, downs the third shot and eyes Emma. “I’m not stupid enough to try to catch up with you so I’d say that’s enough tequila for now but I’m pretty sure our hotel offers more attractions than sitting at the bar and downing shots. Care for a round of craps?”

Emma shrugs, sliding off the stool. “What the bride-to-be wants, the bride-to-be gets,” she says and Regina laughs, grabbing her hand and leading her towards the casino part of the hotel.

“I should certainly hope so.”

***

The problem with Regina is how naturally it all comes for her. Even after the way they woke up, there’s no awkwardness in her actions, no shame, no blushing. It’s like it didn’t mean anything to her. Like she’s already forgotten.

Emma hates it.

She hates the way Regina’s fingers intertwine with hers as if it’s nothing.

Hates her bright smiles and friendly nudges when she notices girls staring at Emma (at least that’s what the brunette thinks – Emma is pretty sure most - if not all - of them are staring at Regina).

Hates it even more when after the third won round of craps the brunette turns to her and slides her finger down Emma’s cheek. “You’re my lucky charm, Swan.”

She wants to scream. To tear Regina’s hand off her face and run. To tell her to stop it. The only problem is she’s not sure Regina will even realize what the _it_ is. And that would break Emma’s heart even more than it’s already been broken.

So she pretends. Glues on a smile, takes a sip of her drink and rests her hand on Regina’s nonchalantly.

“Well, I am a Charming after all.”

Regina just rolls her eyes at her but her smile gets even brighter when she glances down at their hands and grabs the dice again.

“Ten!” she calls.

And, sure enough, a ten she gets.

***

Emma has to give Vegas one thing - the quality of their waiter service. Tequila shots keep coming before they can finish the previous ones once they sit down at a table in the corner of the hotel bar after two far too sobering hours at the casino and Emma feels herself slowly drifting into contentment. She vaguely remembers reading an article which claimed tequila is the only alcohol which isn’t a depressant and she wants to tell Regina but her words die somewhere in her throat when her eyes land on the brunette’s cleavage, so she settles on downing another shot, toasting a drunken (and perhaps quite obviously dishonest) “To marriage!” in the process. Regina quirks her eyebrow and sips on water instead, and Emma shakes her head in disbelief.

“You should at least _try_ to keep up,” she sighs but Regina just laughs, running her hand through her hair.

“I think the institution of marriage is holding up quite alright even without your toasts,” she says and if it’s somewhat tense Emma might just be too drunk to dwell on it.

“Fine,” she shrugs and they sit in comfortable silence for a little bit, watching as more and more people gather on the dance floor, but of course Emma is an _honest_ drunk, so it can’t last too long in her current state. “You look very beautiful tonight,” she says, glancing at Regina who keeps her eyes glued to the dance floor but the edge of her lip raises slightly and she opens her mouth to reply, but Emma’s regret is faster as she remembers what she was toasting to barely a few minutes before, and she stands up abruptly. “Toilet,” she explains, stumbling towards the other end of the room, and doesn’t dare another glance at the brunette.

She splashes ridiculous amounts of cold water on her face and decides to dedicate her next toast to the inventor of waterproof mascara - although on second, more responsible thought, perhaps there shouldn’t be any more toasts tonight. She looks at herself in the mirror and wishes she could be back in Storybrooke, where at least she could use a sobering spell to avoid any more slips of the tongue, but she is in Las Vegas where her only two options are either to keep going and hope Regina is too drunk to care if she reveals too much, or perhaps to order a coffee.

She decides on the latter for the sake of her dignity and drinks a quick double espresso with an outrageous amount of sugar at the bar before making her way back through the crowd, only a few feet away from the table and already exchanging smiles with Regina when she feels someone bump into her side and Regina’s smile changes into a frown.

“Ow,” she mutters, her eyes fluttering up to the offender and landing on a tall redhead who doesn’t seem at all ashamed of her actions.

“I think by the third round of shots in the span of an hour it’s time to start asking yourself if you should maybe find a more entertaining date,” the redhead smirks at her unabashedly and Emma furrows her brow in confusion.

“My da— _what_? Have you been watching me?”

“I mean, you cannot really blame me…” the woman shrugs nonchalantly with a smile so confident that she must believe every girl will just fall at her feet. “Miss pining-stick-up-her-ass over there driving you to alcoholism?”

Emma hardly even registers what she’s saying anymore though, her eyes fixed on Regina who is downing the two remaining shots in quick succession and hey, she’s finally catching up!

“Look, I’m flattered, I guess, but it’s my best friend’s bachelorette weekend so I really shouldn’t be leaving her alone,” she smiles flatly at the woman in front of her and sees a flash of confusion cross her face.

“Wait, so— oh my god, she’s getting _married_?”

“Baffles me as well,” she mutters but shakes it off quickly before she can reveal any more private information to this obnoxious prying stranger.

The redhead, however, is clearly an expert at this because she runs her hand down Emma’sarm and laughs as if Emma said something incredibly funny and the blonde notices Regina’s hardened glare and shit, she really should be getting back to her, she’s already had Ruby and Kathryn leave her on her big night, no wonder she’s annoyed. But before she can make her excuses again, the woman leans in close enough to brush Emma’s ear with her lips, whispers: “If you want to show her what she’s missing, I’ll be around,” and walks away, leaving Emma finally free to return to her table and a slightly annoyed bride-to-be. Nothing she can’t handle.

“Sorry about that,” she says, finally sitting down next to Regina but the brunette shakes her head with a smile, which Emma can’t tell if it’s reaching her eyes because her face is still turned to the dance floor.

“Oh, not at all. She’s cute,” she says in a tone that sounds fake to Emma’s ears but she’s had too much to drink and isn’t going to let her wishful thinking screw her over again, so when Regina’s eyes finally focus back on her, she just shrugs, pouring herself a glass of water.

“Not really my type.”

Her reply seems to satisfy Regina, who visibly relaxes, no wonder relieved no one else will walk out on her tonight.

“You do have rather impeccable taste in women.”

***

They end up on the dance floor soon after and Emma has no idea how Regina is able to move so gracefully in those heels, but she’s sure grateful for her skill because it makes for a rather captivating performance. And if Regina’s arm locks around her neck a little too tight when the redhead from before passes in front of them, sending a rather non-subtle wink Emma’s way, she’s willing to blame it on the tequila and doesn’t comment on it at all.

But things always get worse for Emma, and she should have learned by now that it never stays easy when they are alone and alcohol is involved so when a slow song comes on around 3am when the dance floor has emptied considerably, and Regina’s arms find their way around Emma’s waist and her hands rest on her back, too low to be read as innocent, and a hot breath arises goosebumps on her neck, she knows she stands no chance.

“I’ve missed this,” Regina says quietly, seemingly to no one in particular, and Emma leans back in her embrace to look at her face, see if the same sadness she thought she heard in her voice is on the brunette’s face as well, but Regina is smiling at her, and she has no idea why it breaks her heart so much. “Emma…” Regina’s grip on her back tightens, her lips brush her cheek on the way to her ear, and Emma knows what it means, and perhaps she should have drunk more, or drunk less, or not come to Vegas with her at all. “Can we go upstairs?”

But she just nods and lets the brunette intertwine their fingers, and grab a bottle of jack from the bar, and pull her to the elevator, and push her against the wall, and kiss her all the way up to the 40th floor, and climb on top of her in the bed which felt so homey barely hours ago and now feels as dirty as ever, and make her scream, and come against her fingers.

She only lets the tears come when Regina is sound asleep and she’s snuck out of the bedroom to the balcony and she tightens her trembling hands on the rails, looking down at the neon lights of the city, and all she can think of is that she could really use her best friend now.

When she finally returns to the bedroom and lays down next to the brunette, already half-asleep and too tired to even cover herself with a blanket, she imagines she hears “I love you,” and drifts into a restless sleep full of wedding bells and happy brides and home and family.

* * *

enigma **noun** \i-ˈnig-mə\

_puzzling or inexplicable occurrence or situation_

* * *

 As much as Emma hated waking up tangled up in Regina the previous afternoon, the cold emptiness of the bed in the morning after the night they’ve just spent together might be even worse this time. Regina’s side of the bed is neatly done, sheets straightened out and folded as if she wasn’t gripping on them screaming out her name barely hours earlier.

Emma could not possibly be less excited to face the rest of the day.

But she has to at the very least _try_ to be okay somehow because no matter what, this is still Regina’s bachelorette weekend, she is still the maid of honor, Regina is still her best friend above all else, and perhaps maybe she will get a chance to strangle Ruby and Kathryn for leaving them alone the previous night, so there are _some_ things to look forward to.

She’s still giving herself the motivational speech trying to pump herself up for the day when the shower in the adjacent bathroom stops running and a minute later Regina emerges, wrapped in a towel and definitely not expecting to be seen, judging from the way she almost jumps when she notices Emma’s eyes on her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were still asleep,” but she makes no move to hide herself.

“Scrubbed all the regret clean yet?”

It has to be said, for the record, that Emma did not initially plan to be a dick today. The agenda was all laid out - avoid Regina in the morning while conquering the breakfast buffet, gulp down a few (dozen?) mimosas and when she’s properly numbed herself, find the brunette and try to enjoy the rest of the day in a constantly buzzed state.

But, alas, she has never been one for plans, and the hangover doesn’t help.

She wishes she could enjoy the twinge of pain in Regina’s eyes at her words, but the truth is it’s been years since she last wanted anything to hurt the other woman, so all she gets is adull twist in her stomach.

“I don’t—” Regina starts and Emma has never wanted anyone to finish their sentence as much as she does in that moment. But whatever Regina was going to say remains unsaid as she sits down on the edge of the bed and gives Emma a look she has seen far too many times before - the we-have-to-talk look. “Emma. I’m sorry about last night. You deserve so much better.”

It’s quite possibly the worst thing she could say. Bile rises in Emma’s throat and even she, with all the denial she can muster, can’t blame it on the alcohol. She smiles at the brunette, bravely ignoring the fact that her eyes could fill up with tears at any given moment. “No biggie, Regina. We were drunk,” she shrugs. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” she adds on second thought, because it just seems like something people say.

“Yeah… drunk,” Regina replies, not meeting her eyes, and Emma just feels so fucking _tired_.

* * *

 fervent **adjective** \ˈfər-vənt\

_exhibiting or marked by great intensity of feeling_

* * *

This evening she moves on from tequila to vodka, and the shots can’t come fast enough. Ruby and Kathryn finally join them, apologizing profusely to Regina for ditching them the previous night and asking if they had fun, and Emma is gritting her teeth waiting for Ruby to throw some stupid comment about what happened between them but nothing comes. The waitress is, however, watching her with growing worry in her eyes so Emma throws back another shot just to spite her.

She watches the dance floor as she drinks, focusing on the bright lights and moving bodies less painful than talking to the women at her table, than faking that she’s okay, excited, _happy_ for Regina.

She doesn’t notice the hand in front of her until it’s sliding down her arm suggestively and when she looks up, mildly annoyed but at the same time thankful for a distraction, it’s the obnoxiously self-confident redhead from the previous night.

“Wanna dance?”

“Eloquent,” the snide comment could have really only come from one person, and Emma is grabbing the redhead’s hand before she can think twice, before she bears witness to, or worse, _participates in_ , yet another word squabble she has no patience for right now.

She thinks she has succeeded at removing herself from the situation when the girl follows her to the dance floor with only mild pulling, but then she turns around back to their table and drawls in an overly sweet voice, “No need to be jealous, _sweetheart_ , you had your chance,” and Emma groans.

“That wasn’t necessary,” she remarks when they’re in the middle of the dance floor and the redhead’s arms snake around her waist and she bravely ignores the flashbacks from the previous night it gives her.

“Come on, she started it,” the redhead chuckles. “And besides, she seems okay,” she adds and Emma glances at their table and god, she _does_.

Regina is talking to Kathryn and Ruby excitedly, laughing as she’s sipping on her drink, not sparing even a single look in their direction and Emma’s arms tighten around the woman’s neck, closing whatever little space there was left between them. She closes her eyes when the redhead’s hands find their way to her ass and Emma’s get tangled up in her hair in turn. It feels _nice_ to be wanted like that. Easily, without all the drama and pain, without oblivious fiancés waiting at home (or at least none that she knows of, and she’s okay with that), without years of complicated history.

She might, she realizes, want it like that tonight.

When she feels the lips landing aggressively on hers, she kisses back automatically, revels in how for once she doesn’t have to feel guilty for doing what she wants. But it’s fleeting, it always is, and when she starts thinking clearly again she’s already outside, making her way down the street, taking a walk always her first choice when she needs to clear her head.

Regret comes in waves. She regrets hurting Regina in the morning, and then not standing her ground firmly enough to get answers. She regrets leaving the brunette tonight, trading in celebrating her big day with her friends for a dubious chance to feel free for a little bit, and to make Regina jealous - though she might be regretting it more if it actually _worked_.

And, most of all, she regrets putting her heart on the line yet _again_ , as if she hasn’t been burned a hundred times before, for someone who has made it clear over and over and over again that she will never be enough.

The problem is, she might not be able to stop.

***

Regina might be trying very hard to put on her coldest face the second Emma enters the room but her puffy eyes tell a different story, and wow, they should really learn how to communicate better.

“Different girl every night? How… classy,” comes the snide (albeit spoken in a rather trembling voice) comment and Emma wishes she wouldn’t flinch but it still fucking _hurts_ even though she was expecting worse.

She considers replying “not as classy as cheating on your fiancé,” but it’s too low of a blow now, reminds her too much of all the awful things they said and did to each other years ago, and makes her feel a little sick, and she really doesn’t want to fight this lost battle anymore.

As always, Regina has other ideas.

“At least you’re not pretending it didn’t happen, I’d say it’s progress,” Emma says and the slight upwards movement of the corners of Regina’s lips gives her just enough hope to maybe not run this time.

It’s a very short-lived feeling.

“Emma…” Regina starts and Emma might really start hating her own name if the brunette keeps using it to deliver bad news. “We’re friends. I care about you very deeply—“

“You’re spewing such gal pal bullshit it’s like you’re on CW,” Emma shakes her head and she may be putting on a brave face but the truth is, she’s still scared, still not confident enough to completely disregard Regina’s words, untrue as they seem.

“Emma—“

“No, god, Regina, _enough_ ,” she hates how her voice rises, although not as much as she hates the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. “Okay, I’ll indulge you. Let’s say that’s all it was to you, two friends having sex… On a side note, can you even hear how it sounds? Anyway, why then? Why now? Why did you want us to fall down this rabbit hole again barely weeks before you marry him? Why, when the next morning it means nothing to you? Was it even worth the moral hangover?”

Regina’s expression is all hard edges and steel and Emma knows that she’ll just deflate.

“Oh, are you feeling like someone left you on the side of the road again?”

Emma laughs because this might just be the brunette’s lamest attempt at hurting her yet and she feels a surge of perhaps ill-timed courage.

“You’re so full of it, Regina. I know you want me, I _know_ you do after last night, I’ve known for a very long time. But you’re so scared of going after anyone but Robin, just because some fairy said you’re soulmates? Just because you saw a dumb picture of you together?”

“I _love_ Robin,” Regina drawls out and the obvious truth behind the statement sends Emma over the edge.

“Is that why you keep cheating on him?” The words escape Emma’s mouth as if it was someone else saying them and she knows even before Regina’s face falls that that’s it, the final blow they might never recover from, the voicing of what’s probably Regina’s biggest regret, the admittance that what they’re doing is beyond wrong, and should have never happened, and can’t continue like this.

It turns out she might not be the bigger person she thought she was barely a few minutes ago.

“Goodnight, Emma,” the brunette doesn’t even look at her as she disappears in the bedroom before anything else can be said.

Emma doesn’t suppose she would be welcome to share the bed tonight.

***

If it wasn’t for the unbearable tension, Emma might even enjoy the silence on their way back to Storybrooke. After barely sleeping the previous night, not to mention the far too many shots, she is in no state to listen to _anything_ , and especially not whatever it is that has Kathryn and Ruby shooting nervous glances at each other as they sit squeezed in the back of the taxi to the airport.

“So, Regina, enjoyed your first time in Vegas?” Emma forces herself not to roll her eyes at Kathryn’s rather pathetic attempt at conversation. She means well.

Regina’s smile is stiff but she’s clearly trying _so_ hard not to let her foul mood affect the other women that it’s almost moving. “Definitely an interesting experience,” the brunette seems to have chosen the safe answer and Kathryn doesn’t push further. Emma is grateful.

 _This_ is going to be an interesting experience.

* * *

gehenna **_noun_** \gi-ˈhe-nə\

_a place or state of misery_

* * *

 After that, every day passes more slowly than the one before. Emma goes back to work anddiligently avoids every single place where she could bump into Regina, basically limiting herself to her apartment and the station. When she picks up Henry for the weekend, she doesn’t even get out of the car, instead honking impatiently as if she was a dickhead teenagerpicking up a date who definitely deserves better.

“Mom says it’s a respectable neighbourhood and if you keep doing that she will magically remove your horn,” he says matter-of-factly when he finally gets in the car and fastens his seatbelt.

“Well, I’ll conjure it back then,” she grumbles defiantly and he looks at her with such exasperation in his eyes it’s like looking at a smaller version of Regina. She puffs out an annoyed breath. “Whatever, you’re old enough to walk to my place now anyway.”

“Hey! Why am I the one paying for your mistakes?”

“What? Why do you assume it was _my_ fault?” Henry raises his eyebrow which, okay, fair, probably most of the times they fought has been because of her being an idiot but _still_.

“Okay then, what happened between you guys?”

Emma doesn’t answer and Henry doesn’t push, instead resigning himself to playing with the Nintendo Switch she got him for his birthday.

“Are we getting dinner at Granny’s?” He asks when they are nearing the diner and she winces.

“Umm, I was actually thinking I could cook something,”a big fat lie, of course, but she’s not going to admit to her teenage son that she’s willing to let him eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner to avoid bumping into his other mother.

Of course, he is Regina’s son, which means her little games don’t fly with him.

“Mom is making lasagna and they’re staying in tonight,” he says innocently and her stomach rumbles. A few weeks ago Emma would have been invited to join them for the lasagna, and sent home with enough leftovers to feed Henry and herself throughout the entire weekend. Or she would have stayed longer, had a glass or two of Regina’s cider and dozed off on the sofa in the study, and woke up snuggled up in a soft blanket smelling vaguely of Regina’s perfume. “It’s grilled cheese night…” he adds and she’s sold.

“Fine,” she parks the car and briefly considers sending Henry in to get the food but hey, it’s a beautiful Friday night and they deserve a nice eating out experience, not lukewarm take-out eaten in front of the TV.

They’re not even halfway through the meal when the bell above the door rings and Regina enters. Emma almost drops her sandwich, turning to subtly yell at Henry, but he’s just waving his arms at the brunette with the most innocent expression in the universe on his face.

“Mom!”

Regina keeps her composure, of course, because she’s Regina and jaws hitting the floor are just not her style, but Emma can see she’s just as surprised as she is. Nevertheless, she orders quickly and walks over to their table with a tight smile.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asks before anyone else can even open their mouths and Regina quirks her eyebrow.

“Robin is with the Merry Men and I didn’t feel like cooking for just myself—,” she says and then hesitates when their eyes meet. “I don’t think I have to explain myself to you,” she adds with a well-rehearsed note of coldness in her voice. “I thought you were getting pizza?” She’s looking at Henry now, who is paying far too much attention to the tomato soup in front of him.

Emma is going to _kill him_.

“We changed our minds,” he shrugs, “It’s grilled cheese night!” As if that explains everything.

Regina nods as if it really does, though, and pushes her hands deep inside her coat pockets. “Well, I was just going to grab something to go…”

“You can sit with us!” Henry volunteers without hesitation, _clearly_ not at all planned and Regina’s features soften.

“Thank you, Henry, but I have some work to do,” she says somewhat sadly and turns her head when Ruby calls from behind the counter: “Grilled cheese to go!”

“That would be me,” she’s only looking at Henry now, blatantly ignoring Emma’s raised eyebrows. The blonde wants to tease her a little about her unusual, unrefined order, but grits her teeth. That’s not where they’re at anymore.

“Okay,” he shrugs but doesn’t try to hide his disappointment. “Bye, mom!”

“See you on Sunday, sweetheart,” she smiles at him and ruffles his hair gently. “Emma,” she adds after a second and nods curtly.

Emma waves at her, and only after the brunette walks away she realizes that she just. _Waved_. At her.

Henry is looking at her like he’s about to give her timeout, his eyes moving pointedly between her face and the door. “Come _on_ ,” he sighs and she groans.

“ _Fine_.”

***

“Regina, wait,” she calls out after the brunette, who is already opening the door to her car.

“What now, Miss Swan?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “That’s so 2011,” she says and instantly feels lighter when she sees Regina visibly fighting off a smile. “Look, I’m sorry,” she’s tugging on the hem of her shirt anxiously and damn, she really wishes she wasn’t so nervous. “About Vegas, what I said… what I did. I was drunk, we were drunk. You’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose you,” she looks up at Regina and is relieved to see her features soften.

The brunette nods slowly. “I suppose we should start getting along again, especially for Henry’s sake,” she says and Emma feels it like a slap in the face. But she’s done fighting this battle she can’t win so she just shrugs. If Regina doesn’t want to admit their friendship means something to her it’s her problem.

“Yeah, for Henry’s sake,” she smiles softly.

“I suppose I could spare some time to eat with you. If I’m still invited?”

“Totally.”

When they sit down and Henry smiles like he hasn’t in days, and Regina’s hand grazes her knee gently, and she shares her sundae with her, and laughs at her lame jokes, Emma feels like maybe things could be alright again. Sometimes words aren’t everything.

* * *

 havoc _**noun**_  \ ˈha-vək \

wide and general destruction, devastation

great confusion and disorder

* * *

_Present day_

“Do you know you never even said it?” when she hears Regina’s quiet voice, almost drowned out by the wind and the murmur of the ocean, she’s already a few yards away, determined to get as far away from the other woman as possible, as fast as possible.

Still, she stops in her tracks and turns around slowly, as if something was pulling her. Their eyes meet above the trunk of the fallen tree, the moonlight bright enough to let Emma see Regina’s features in detail despite the distance.

“Said what?”

Does she even want to know? She’s sure it’s nothing good and her shoulders tense instantly, like they always do when she’s bracing herself for a punch.

“That you love me. Sober. You’ve never said it sober, not once and you— I’ve heard it time and time again, and each time you were _so_ drunk. And each time I was waiting for you to say it again once you’ve sobered up and you never did,” Regina’s voice gets quieter with each word and by the end of the sentence Emma is not even sure if she’s hearing her right anymore.

Her hands curl into fists by her sides but her eyes never leave Regina’s. She shakes her head slowly, a bitter smile on her lips as she takes a shaky breath.

“You never wanted to hear it.”

***

By the time she gets in her car, her cheeks are already wet. She’s panting heavily, having basically run the whole way, not turning back.

Why does it hurt so much that Regina didn’t even try to stop her? That she didn’t even protest? Did she even watch her leave?

She throws the empty bottle she’s been clutching desperately on the passenger seat and starts the engine.

Emma knows she shouldn’t be driving. Her hands are trembling, her vision is blurred and her head is a mess but she needs to get away, and it’s still safer than trying to use magic right now. And honestly, it’s _Storybrooke_ , where most of the population goes to bed by 10 pm, it’s not like she’s posing a threat to anyone at this hour.

Except, perhaps, herself, but she might be just too far gone to care at all at this point.


End file.
